The monitors beeped. The machines gently whooshed. Together,
they produced a steady rhythm of sound.

Beep-beep. Whoosh. Beep-beep. Whoosh.

It would have been hypnotizing, soothing, if the man listening to them
had let them be.

To Harry Ioki, they were the stark sounds of failure. His failure.
Every beep and every whoosh just drove home the fact that it was his
fault his partner was lying near-death in a hospital bed.

'It should be me lying there,' he thought, not for the first time.
'It should be me '

The creaking of the door penetrated his dark thoughts, and Harry looked
up.

"How is she?" Tom asked quietly once hed closed the
door behind him.

Harry shook his head. "Same."

Tom nodded. He moved up to Hoffs bed, opposite Ioki, and looked
down at Judy with a troubled gaze. He rested one hand on her forearm.

Harry noticed the dark red stains on Hansons white shirt cuffs.
Blood. Judys blood. The splotches matched the red and green Christmas
tie that hung, loosened, around Toms neck, the one hed worn
to the Chapel party only five hours ago.

Harry shuddered. Some Christmas party

After a few seconds of silence, Hanson cleared his throat. "Justin
Bowler died in surgery fifteen minutes ago," he said. He glanced
at Harry, who had his jaw clenched.

"Good," Ioki muttered. At least they didnt have to
worry about that scumbag anymore. Hed done enough damage already.

A rustle of clothing, and Tom was beside Harry. "You gonna be
okay?"

"No." Blunt, but true.

There was a pause, and then a gentle: "Its not your fault,
Harry."

Harry blinked back a few tears and said fiercely, "Isnt
it? Isnt it, Tom? I was the one to recognize him first I
was the one he was aiming at " He swallowed hard and continued
in a whisper, "I froze. And, and Judy Dammit! If I had moved
quicker, she wouldnt have had to push me out of the way!"

"Harry " A hand landed on Harrys shoulder

"No, Tom," he snapped, shrugging away from the brotherly
touch and standing up. The rest of his words died on his lips when he
saw the look in Hansons eyes. It was a look he was sure was in
his own, should he bother to look in a mirror. He took a deep breath
and tried to compose himself. "Look, Im sorry. I just, I
just need to get some air."

Harry grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, walked to the
door, then looked back. "Youll come find me if anything changes?"

Hanson nodded. "Yeah, of course."

*** *** ***

Harry walked past the waiting room where everybody else sat waiting.
He tried to ignore their concerned faces as they watched him stride
across the linoleum floor to the bank of elevators.

Outside it was cold and wet. The falling snow was more like falling
slush, and it melted immediately upon impact with the cement sidewalk
and asphalt street. Harry pulled his jacket on and shoved his hands
into the deep pockets.

The colored lights strung along the front of the hospital entrance
depressed him even more, reminding him that tomorrow was Christmas.
He thought of all the people eagerly anticipating the coming holiday.
The children tucked snugly beneath their blankets waiting for Santa
Claus to arrive. The merriness. The cheeriness.

His feet started walking, hoping to leave those thoughts behind. They
followed him, though, down one street after another.

Judy had been excited about Christmas, had been looking forward to
it. But it didnt look like shed get to exchange presents
with them all, at midnight, like she had planned. Because somehow, in
a room full of twenty cops, a vengeful lunatic with a .38 Chief Special
had destroyed everything.

The thing was, Harry should have seen the man. Should
have recognized him. He had been the arresting officer, after all, the
one who had put Bowler behind bars. Should have acted faster But
he hadnt been carrying his gun, hadnt thought hed
need it at the party, and he would never forgive himself for that.

He came across a small park in-between two tall buildings. A cast iron
bench sat beneath a lonely pine tree. Harry dropped sank down on it,
somewhat protected from the falling slush by the hanging boughs. He
rested his elbows on his thighs, and his face in his hands, and took
a deep breath.

A few blocks away, the hospital chapels bells chimed twelve.
The sound resounded through the eerily quiet night.

"Christmas," Ioki sighed, leaning his head on the back of
the bench and closing his eyes. He wasnt looking forward to it.
If Judy didnt make it He didnt know what hed
do.

He wished hed never met Justin Bowler. Wished hed never
arrested him. Then he never would have gone to the Chapel looking for
revenge. Hell, he wished hed never been born .

He tried to picture what that would be like. Judy certainly wouldnt
be in the hospital At this late hour, she would either be at home
asleep or possibly still at the Chapel, celebrating.

Without him.

'But at least shed be safe,' a small voice whispered.

"Got any spare change?"

Harry opened his eyes at the unexpected words. A man stood before him,
hunched over against the wind. By his dress and overall scraggly appearance,
Harry guessed that he was one of the citys many homeless.

"Uh, yeah." Harry straightened up from his slouch and dug
into his coat pocket. "Its pretty cold out here, pal,"
he continued. "You might want to think about going to a shelter
for the night."

"Youd think," the man agreed, somewhat wistfully. He
accepted the ten-dollar bill Ioki handed him with a nod of thanks. "What
about you, dont you have someplace to be? Its Christmas."

Harry hesitated, then said, "Yeah, I do. Id better get back,
actually." He vacated the bench and, with an absent goodbye to
the stranger, directed his steps back the way hed come.

*** *** ***

He walked past the soda machine and rounded the final corner, coming
to a surprised halt. He had expected to see Doug or Tom or any one of
the others still sprawled in their chairs, but the waiting room was
empty. Where had they gone?

A second later, realization came, and Harry practically ran down the
corridor, his wet shoes squeaking all the way. He threw open the door
to Hoffs private room. "Judy?" Only she wasnt
there, and neither were the others. An elderly woman occupied the rooms
only bed; she appeared to be sound asleep.

Confused, he checked the number on the door. No, he hadnt made
a mistake; this was Judys room.

Back in the corridor, Harry quickly scanned both directions. "Where
is everybody?"

Two female nurses rounded the corner, talking and laughing. The topic
of discussion was a disastrous date that one of the women had been on.

"Hey, excuse me," Harry called. The nurses didnt look
up from their conversation. "Hey," he tried again, running
towards them. "Wheres Judy Hoffs, the woman who was in 211?"

"Who?" the blonde nurse asked, Harrys question finally
registering.

Harry pointed down the hall. "Room 211. Judy Hoffs, the police
officer who was shot ." His voice trailed off as the nurses
looked at each other in confusion.

"Mrs. Hill has been in 211 for the past two days, recovering from
abdominal surgery," the redhead stated. "Are you sure youve
got the right room?"

Harry waved his hand in frustration. "Yes, Im sure! My partner
was just in there an hour ago  I was in there, sitting with her."

The blonde shrugged, glancing uneasily between Harry and her friend.
"Im sorry, sir. I dont know what to tell you. Why dont
you ask at the desk?"

The women walked away, whispering, and Harry stared after them. "What
the hell is going on?" he muttered to himself, turning around in
a full circle and taking in the now-empty corridor.

"Shes not here."

Harry spun around. The man, the homeless man from the park. He leaned
against one wall. He held a large sandwich in one hand and proceeded
to pick onions out of it with the other. Satisfied that it was onion
free, he took a healthy bite.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked, surprised.

"They make the best turkey clubs at the cafeteria," the man
said as he chewed, then added, "Like I said, your friends arent
here."

His words finally sank in, and Harry took a menacing step forward.
"What do you know about my friends? Where are they?" he demanded.

"I can show you." He finally looked up from his snack. "If
youre interested."

*** *** ***

Outside once again, Harry kept one eye on his current companion and
used the other to scan the parking lot. He didnt see Hansons
Mustang or Fullers vehicle anywhere. 'Great,' he thought. 'No
ride.'

"Cmon," the guy said, moving. Silently, Ioki asked
himself just what the hell he thought he was doing. But, lured by the
promise of answers, he reluctantly followed.

"Do you have a name or something?" Ioki asked, tired of thinking
of him as the guy.

"Phil."

"Phil what?"

"Just Phil."

They wandered into a less populated area of the hospital parking lot.
Phil stopped at one car, a new blue convertible with a white retractable
top. He glanced around once, then tested the drivers side door;
it was, surprisingly, unlocked.

"Hey!" Harry whispered loudly, looking around guiltily. "What
do you think youre doing? This is stealing!"

"Relax, were just borrowing it."

Phil moved his arm to open the door, and Harry grabbed it roughly.
"No," he said.

"Fine," Phil responded. "Then you go back inside and
ask the receptionist about your friends. But I guarantee you theyre
not in there."

"Well, how about you tell me where the hell they are, and why
theyre not in the hospital like they were an hour ago? Im
tired of all this mystery crap!"

"Theyre not in there," Phil began, pulling his arm
out of Harrys grasp, "because your partner was never shot.
She was never shot because that creep Bowler never crashed your Christmas
party looking for you. And he never did that because you never
arrested him, never became a cop. You, my friend, were never born."
He straightened his tattered coat. "Satisfied?"

First there was a moment of incredulity, during which Ioki almost laughed
outright. That was quickly replaced with suspicion. Harry held up a
hand, took a step back, and shook his head in denial and disbelief.
"Stop. Wait, right there. Youre nuts. What, you cant
come up with a better story than that? Ive seen this movie."

Harry shot him a frustrated look and swung the car around in a u-turn.

Theyd been driving for about half an hour or so on the strangely
empty highway, heading out of the city, past the railroad tracks and
the warehouses. As Harry directed the car down the off ramp, he noticed
that they were in the suburbs.

This particular piece of suburbia looked somewhat familiar: small parks
of grass and trees, two-story brick houses, neatly cultivated hedges
and flower bushes. Leafless trees dotted the yard. An occasional bush
or window was decorated with colored strings of lights, splashes of
cheer in the close darkness.

"Fuller lives here," Harry realized. "Or he did, anyway."
He recalled the weekend he and the rest of the gang had helped the police
captain move out of his house and into his new apartment in the city.

Phil remained silent.

Harry navigated the quiet streets and, without thinking about it, without
needing to think about it, headed in the direction of Fullers
old house.

"Why are we here?" he asked suddenly.

Phil shrugged. "You wished you were never born, remember?"

Harry stared at him for a second, then turned back to the road, rolling
his eyes. "Oh, of course. That explains everything."

The house was constructed of red brick and sturdy cedar; the latter
appeared silvery-red in the backwash of Christmas lights.

The curtains of one large window were pulled open. White lace shears
remained closed, but a gaily-decorated fir tree could be seen beyond
the folds.

"But he doesnt live here anymore," Harry reasoned,
even as he exited the car.

"Just follow me."

Phil started up the cement walkway. Ioki hesitated a few seconds, but,
inevitably, his curiosity got the better of him. He reached Phil, who
stood in front of the window. Light spilled onto the two men, and Harry
scanned the street, positive that a neighbor would spot them and call
the police.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught Iokis attention, and
he turned to the window. "Its Fuller."

Peering through the lace, Harry could make out a cozy-looking living
room. There was Fuller, wearing pajamas and a blue bathrobe. He held
a steaming mug of something or other in one hand. The opposite hand
was attached to his arm, of course, which was in turn wrapped around
the shoulders of a smiling woman. His ex-wife, Harry realized, remembering
the one picture he had ever seen of her. Only she didnt look so
ex.

A young man, maybe twenty years old, came into the room then. 'That
must be Kip.'

Harry glanced over at Phil. The man was gazing upon the scene with
a regretful shake of his head. Trying to see what he saw, Harry once
more looked inside. The family had begun to open presents. Kip walked
over to the tree, to the window, and Harry ducked. Phil didnt
move.

"Okay, Im confused," Harry whispered, turning to face
his companion. "I thought the point of this was to show me how
terrible things are without me around. Thats the way it was in
the movie. But they look happy in there."

"Hmm," Phil responded. "They do, dont they?"

He turned away and walked across the sodden lawn towards the car. Harry
threw one last glance at the view through the window, then followed,
feeling hopelessly lost.

At the car, Phil said, "Adam wanted to be a cop since he was about
ten, did you know that?"

Harry shook his head.

"Yup. Joined the force after college. But his wife, well, she
never liked his job. Pestered him to resign. She left him when he wouldnt.
A couple years later, though, he quit anyway. The two of them got back
together. Shes happy. Hes trying to be."

"But I dont understand," Harry replied. "How "
He shook his head in confusion. "How do I fit in?"

"In an indirect, roundabout way, your absence caused him to make
some different choices," Phil explained.

Harry looked back at the house. Somehow, despite the cheerful lights,
it looked lonely and sad.

*** *** ***

The windshield wipers swished-swished, clearing the glass the
best they could of slushy rain. Harry shivered and turned the heat up
full blast. Just the few minutes hed spent in front of Fullers
window had left him soaked and thoroughly chilled.

He didnt know where they were headed next. He just followed Phils
occasional directions. Phil, for the most part, was quiet, seemingly
giving Harry some time to ruminate over the nights events.

That was fine with Harry. He needed time to ruminate.

Hed long ago come to the conclusion that he was dreaming 
that had to be it. This whole entire, bizarre scenario was a dream.
Hed seen "Its A Wonderful Life" countless times; And it
made sense that, it being Christmas, his subconscious would pull that
particular movie from the recesses of his brain to examine  expunge
-- his guilt over Judys injury. Right?

Except, if he was dreaming, why did the water dripping down the back
of his neck feel so wet and cold?

'Maybe you fell asleep in the park, Harry told himself. Youre
sitting on that bench getting soaked through and through, and its
being incorporated into your dream. That makes sense.'

Sure, that was it.

The windshield wipers swished-swished.

*** *** ***

The church was made of stone, and had probably been built at least
fifty years ago. Block letters fixed to a squat, concrete and stone
sign identified it as St. Matthews. Warm light filtered out through
the stained glass windows, an invitation to passersby to come in and
celebrate midnight Mass.

Inside the vestibule, Harry and Phil peered in at the throng of worshipers.

"Fifth row from the back, right hand side," Phil said.

"What?" said Harry, puzzled. "Therere people blocking
the way."

Phil raised an eyebrow, pointing out the obvious solution to that.

Harry sighed and made his way along the back wall, making himself as
unobtrusive as he could without looking suspicious. He knew from the
nurses back at the hospital that he could be seen, so he remained casual
as he counted off the pews.

Fifth from the rear, right hand side.

There was an empty space on the end nearest the wall, and Harry quietly
slipped into it. He glanced around, and was startled to see Phil right
next to him, standing in the aisle. He hadnt realized that the
man had followed him. "Geez!" he whispered. "Sneak up
on a guy why dontcha."

The woman to his left gave him an odd look, and Harry picked up a hymnal
and pretended to sing along with the congregation.

Glancing down the pew to his left, Harry whispered from the corner
of his mouth, "What am I -- ?" But he stopped when he found
what he was supposed to see.

Doug Penhall was situated in the middle of the pew, an open hymnal
in his hands, singing. He wore dark slacks and a colorful button down
shirt. No tie. His hair was the same length, still hung over his brow
in boyish unruliness.

All in all, he looked normal.

Beside him was Clavo, appearing freshly scrubbed and starched to the
max.

"I didnt know Penhall was Catholic," he mused.

"Hes only here for Clavo," Phil finally said.

Harry continued to watch the pair, Penhall in particular. Despite the
fact that he only saw Penhalls profile, Ioki could see frown lines
around his friends mouth that hadnt previously existed.

Finally, he looked over at Phil, a question in his expression.

"This isnt a good Christmas for Doug," Phil said. "Its
been a rough year Fullers resignation, the program in danger
of being shut down Tom Judy Not to mention Marta.
You know, the trip to El Salvador was a lot harder for him without Tom
to help him through it." Phil shook his head sadly.

Harry shook his head, rewinding what hed just heard and playing
it again. "Wait. Wait. Wait. Back up. What about Tom and Judy?"

"Tragic, really," said Phil.

"What is?" Harry hissed.

The woman next to him was staring at him again; she scooted over, placing
a few more inches of space between them.

Frustrated, wanting answers, Ioki grabbed hold of Phils arm and
quickly led him out into the empty vestibule.

"Now tell me, dammit! What happened to Tom, to Judy?" he
demanded, shaking the older man. "Show me!" 'Oh, god,' he
prayed. 'Dont let them be where I think they are.'

Phil pulled his arm out of Harrys grasp. "All right, all
right. Chill."

Harry opened his mouth to say that he didnt want to chill,
but he never got the chance.

*** *** ***

A disorienting moment later, Harry shook his head and staggered forward
a step. "Whoa. Head rush."

"Yeah, you get used to it."

Realization settled over him. "Hey, whats the deal?"
Harry demanded. "If you can just snap your fingers like that and
zap us somewhere, whyd we even steal a car?!"

Phil shrugged somewhat sheepishly. "Sometimes a guys gotta
take the long route, ya know? Take in some scenery. I dont get
the chance very often."

The fact that it was too dark to see any possible scenery along
the highway crossed Iokis mind, but it swiftly faded into unimportance
when he saw their new surroundings.

Green, carefully manicured grass spread out for acres, divided by winding
asphalt paths. Scatterings of large, shady weeping willows and cone-bearing
pines dotted the lawns. Stone and marble slabs rose from the ground;
swathed in shadows, they cast some strange ones of their own in the
diluted glow of antique streetlamps.

A feeling of dread, as solid and uncomfortable as a hunk of ice, settled
in the pit of his stomach.

"Oh no," Harry murmured. He turned to Phil and pleaded, "Come
on, dont tell me theyre dead. Tom and Judy?"
He spun on his heel, taking in the sight of innumerable headstones spread
out among the silent landscape.

"Sorry, pal," Phil offered, a sympathetic look on his face.
He gestured one-handedly to a gray sandstone plaque that was set, slightly
raised, into the ground.

With rubbery knees, Harry approached the marker and knelt down before
it on soggy grass. A wrought iron street lamp some twenty feet away
allowed just enough light for him to read the words engraved onto the
plaque:

"Did he die?" Phil supplied. Harry nodded. "It was that
whole mess with that crazy girl, Quincy. Without you there to stop him,
that bozo rent-a-cop shot him. Shattered his spine with the first bullet
and shredded his heart with the second. He died on the operating table."

Harry shut his eyes tight against the horrible image that Phils
words conjured. "God " A plea to wake up from this oh-so-realistic
nightmare. He stood up, hesitated. "And Judy?"

"She died in a car accident a few months before Tom. Your birthday,
actually, only you were never born. She shouldve turned
south to pick you up at your place, but instead she turned north and
was broad sided by a drunk driver." He added, "Her graves
not far from here, if you want to see it?"

Harry shivered and mutely shook his head. He couldnt think of
anything hed rather do less than see his partners name carved
into a stone plaque like the one before which he knelt. It was so cold,
so harsh, so final. It was something that he had, from time to
time, had nightmares about.

And the events of just hours before had rudely thrust upon him the
possibility of actually seeing those nightmares come true.

A sudden fear grabbed hold of him, a fear that, while he was
wherever he was Judy had slipped away. Without giving him a chance
to ask her to hold on, or to say goodbye.

"I want to go home," he demanded. "Ive had enough.
Take me home."

"But were not done yet," said Phil. "Theres
more to see "

"No, we are done." Harry threw his arms up in a gesture
that encompassed the entire cemetery. "I dont want to see
anymore -- Ive learned my lesson, or whatever this is supposed
to be. Im sorry I ever wished I were never born. There are things
I cant control; I realize that. Now take me home. Please."

He stepped forward and reached out a hand to grab hold of Phils
shoulder, not sure what he would do but desperately wanting to get back
to Judy, to the others. But he must have blinked, and when he opened
his eyes again Phil was gone. His gathered momentum propelled him forward,
and he staggered a few steps, clutching thin air.

The cemetery was gone, also. The trees, the headstones, all gone.

A quick, three-sixty degree spin revealed that he was back in the hospital
parking lot. Standing next to a new, blue convertible with a white retractable
top.

His relieved exhalation came out as a half laugh, half choke. He rubbed
his hands over his face, wiping away as much water as he could.

It had stopped raining.

"A dream," he said, giddy. "Just a dream."

He mustve just lost track of time when he took his walk. Zoned
out, had a sort of mental blackout, dreamed his weird little dream.
The stress of the evening had gotten to him, he reasoned.

But how long was he gone? He looked at his watch. Almost three hours.
Theyd be wondering where he was.

A smile split his face, and he raced across the parking lot, not caring
that his splashing through puddles was leaving his legs wetter than
their already soaked state.

He dashed through the entrance, down the hall, to the elevator. He
fidgeted through the two seconds it took to reach the right floor, and
then bounded across the checkered linoleum the instant the doors chimed
open. He skidded to a stop at the waiting room. It was empty.

"No," he whispered in horror. Hed been so sure that
this was real. So sure.

"Harry!"

Harry spun around and saw Tom Hanson walking toward him, alive. A vision
of a gray sandstone plaque passed through Harrys mind, and when
Hanson was near enough he dragged him in for a relieved hug.